


A Ribbon in the Heat

by shinychimera, Yeomanrand



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Kinky, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinychimera/pseuds/shinychimera, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/pseuds/Yeomanrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little one-night romp of summer-hot sex and dawning love; Len's a med student and Jim's the sweet ruffian he picked up off the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ribbon in the Heat

Jim woke slowly in the humid summer night to the sweet promise of a body settling against his, but by the time he fully opened his eyes Len was sound asleep. This wasn't the first time he'd curled up next to Jim, though even getting him to do that much had been a fight; he insisted Jim was off-limits.

Stupid noble idiot.

Jim lifted his head a little to watch Len, resting his cheek on his hand, trying to ignore the growing heat in his skin and under his thighs where he pressed against the sheets. It was past late and into early, the light was still on, and Len hadn't bothered to pull the blanket up from where Jim had kicked it down to the foot of the bed. Jim was stretched out nude on the bare sheet and it was still too hot, but that was okay because it meant Len had stripped down to his shorts for a change, before he'd collapsed.

He'd wrapped one arm around the back of Jim's neck, fingers curled around the leather cuff Jim hadn't taken off when he'd come home from the club. Too lazy to unlace them, and Jim liked the way they felt, anyway. And Len was drooling on Jim's elbow, which was...well, gross, but also kind of sweet. In a very Leonard McCoy-ish way.

He worked way too hard, spending all his time between med school where he worked his ass off and the TA duties he took far too seriously, which was fine and all and Jim knew that work ethic kept a roof over both their heads, but Jim was always after him to "Get some sleep, Len!"

And Jim hadn't even known how to boil water, but he'd learned to cook because _someone _had to make sure Len ate something that wasn't an energy bar at least once a day. If he wasn't reminded, he'd forget to do that, too.

Len stirred, and his hand curled tighter around Jim's wrist, snugging Jim a bit closer into the crook of his elbow. The steamy, sticky heat should have made Jim want to pull away, but instead he guiltily savored the contact, the weight of the lean body pinning him to the bed.

He looked so different sleeping than awake, his face slack, mouth curled ever so slightly upward where it was pressed against Jim's forearm. That peaceful, unworried expression was something that surprised Jim no matter how often he saw it, how often he lay awake next to Len and watched his slumbering face for signs of what he was dreaming.

Not that Len was ever going to be dreaming what Jim wished he would. He'd made that very clear when he'd taken Jim in off the street (despite himself, if his grumbling was to be believed). Jim knew Len didn't care that Jim was legal now -- he was always going to see that scruffy kid, betting his pretty face on a bare-knuckle fight for a few bucks. Which wasn't what Jim wanted at all.

Although Len was so often exhausted Jim supposed it didn't really matter whether he was interested or not.

He looked toward the muscle of Len's shoulder, where any tension he was carrying would show in knots, and frowned sharply: dark inky lines curled over the edge, toward his bicep.

Len had a tattoo. He had a tattoo?

Jim craned his neck a little further, but he couldn't see more without moving, and if he moved too much -- no matter how careful he thought he was being -- Len was going to be instantly alert. What he could see of the ink was fine-line black and gray, and he tried to figure out what the design could possibly be. Not a name, he was sure of that; Len had broken up with his long-term girlfriend during pre-med (or, rather, she'd broken up with him, Jim suspected, though Len never talked about much of anything that wasn't school, work, or why Jim needed to finish catching up on _his _education). As far as Jim knew there hadn't been anyone else serious in his life.

And the organic shapes of these curves didn't suggest mermaids and anchors, or thorny tribal sigils, or ancestral knotwork -- and none of those felt likely for Len anyway. But what the hell did he know?

Len shifted and snorted, mumbling incoherently, and Jim whipped his attention back to his friend's face, holding his breath -- but though the habitual crease between his brows had reappeared, his eyes didn't open; he just slid his leg over Jim's and his breathing settled right back down into a slow even rhythm.

Jim sighed, sweating where Len held him, and tapped his fingers fretfully on his own wrist above the cuff Len wasn't touching. Rested his chin on the back of his hand and wondered if that crease went away in the aftermath of orgasm, or during sex. He shifted his legs very slowly, trying to ease the hard ache in his groin without setting off Len's "who-needs-an-intern" alarms.

His breath caught again when he felt Len shift against his thigh in return, just a faint undulation of his hips. Then again, and this time there was no mistaking it: Len was hard, too. He slept on, dreaming, pink lips slightly open, fingers twitching tighter on Jim's wrist.

Jim inhaled shallowly, once, twice, then decided. Len might be all full up on nobility, but Jim had never been one to turn his back on temptation, and the opportunity was just too ripe to deny what both their bodies wanted.

Pinned under Len's heavy limbs, hands well trapped, Jim rolled his hips forward and back, rubbing his long thigh muscle gently against Len's erection until the friction provoked a restless, breathy sigh. A sympathetic tingle went up Jim's spine, amplifying his own arousal; he licked salt off his lips, switched to a side to side rocking, pushing more insistently against cock and balls through the thin fabric of Len's boxers. He listened and watched intently for the moment Len woke. The recoil happened all at once, the sudden arrest of his instinctive grind, the lurch up onto his elbow, the horror on his face. Jim was prepared.

He hooked two fingers under the black cord choker Len always wore, pulled his face closer and poured every ounce of sincerity and affection and desire he had in him into his words.

"_I want you_."

Then he jerked harder on the cord, tugging Len into a fierce, inescapable kiss, not caring if he left a mark on the back of Len's neck. And after all the thousands of words Len had devoted to why this would_ never happen_, he surprised Jim by caving, moaning into Jim's mouth, finally thrusting blunt and helpless against him.

The kiss was deep, wet, salty-sweet, and Len melted back against the steady tug on his neck, letting Jim shift until he was laying all along Len's side, until Len was the one pinned against the sheets. Jim let the choker go, shifting to press a hand firmly on Len's chest instead, but his small, sharp exhalation gave Jim a clue -- the sudden capitulation wasn't just because Len was still only half-awake, or because Jim had surprised him. He _liked_ Jim taking charge, manhandling him.

And that made so much goddamn sense, he thought, sucking Len's lower lip out taut, dragging it gently between his teeth. Len gave a panting whimper and chased after Jim's mouth, hands sliding up Jim's back. After two years watching Jim dress and undress, Len had to have _some_ clue that Jim liked being held, pinned, tied -- that he liked the trappings, at the very least, even if Len never wanted to think about anything more Jim might be up to. But Len could never be _that guy_, could never feel like he was forcing Jim into anything. Not by his noble fucking personality, and apparently not by his own inclinations.

But if Jim was the one asking -- no, no, he'd asked before. But if he insisted, ordered, _demanded_...

He took hold of Len's cock without any preamble, gave it a firm stroke through the shorts, feeling it go instantly from stiff to solid.

"_Mine_," he growled. Len's breath hitched and he looked back at Jim, stunned and taut under Jim's narrowed, hungry eyes. A bead of sweat trickled down from the corner of his jaw, and Jim chased after it with lips and teeth, squeezing his fist. Len gasped deeply, arching into the touch, legs jerking, strong fingers digging at Jim's back.

"_Jim_."

"Hush. I should have done this a long time ago." Jim rocked his erection against Len's hip in time with his stroking hand, kissing and nipping across chest and neck. Then Len rolled one shoulder forward, with just a little hiss, and curiosity and desire slammed into Jim again. He slid his hand up and off of Len's cock, pushed a hard hand against his hip, forced Len onto his side so he could see the tattoo reaching up across his shoulder blade.

A tree. Jim ran calloused fingers up along Len's spine, spread them to mark the roots: almost half of the intricate, elegant emblem dark and stark against Len's silky skin, the rest barely there, pale gray branches ghosting into nothingness at the tips. The highest branch was crisp and edged faintly in pink, and Jim grinned, understanding why Len had come home so late.

Jim kept pushing, got the sneaky bastard splayed flat on his belly. He peeled Len's shorts down off hips and legs, kicked them to the foot of the bed, watching for any hint of protest, but Len only squirmed until his cock had found a halfway-comfortable pinch against the bed, then lay waiting. Jim leaned over him, propped on one arm, dipped his head closer to the tattoo, watching the apprehensive play of muscle under Len's skin like reflections on water. There were two trunks, Jim realized, winding around each other in a tight helix.

"What is it?" he murmured, resisting the unsanitary urge to lick the freshly inked and mended skin, but his lips were so close that his breath on the sensitive spot made Len shiver and flinch.

"Saosis. Yggdrasil. Etz Chaim."

"Gesundheit?" Jim sat up for a moment, one hand still tracing the trunk of the tree, the other reaching for the discreet tube of lubricant on the shelf that was part of the headboard, next to his favorite reading material.

Len's sigh was more exasperated than aroused; he rested his forehead on loosely folded arms. "The World Tree. The Tree of Life. Undereducated --"

"You _really_ want to lecture me right now?" He smiled, swinging a leg over Len, settling his full weight astride his ass, savoring Len's moan. He felt...powerful. Confident. Energized by the urge to taunt Len, push him, see what a little hard and rough and mean would do to him, see what he was willing to take. Stiffened by the responsibility to do this _right_, to be hard and tender, rough and firm, to push Len out of himself and bring him back safe. He slicked himself up generously with quick silent fingers.

"Jim, I --"

He shut Len up by snugging his cock into the groove between his cheeks, up along the base of Len's spine. He placed one palm on the inked shoulder blade, leaned his weight forward, tantalizing them both with the sweaty clasping friction of cock across asshole. "Why didn't you tell me about the tattoo? Or let me see it before now?"

Len gave a little gasp, sounding raw, almost shy. "Because it's... not finished."

"Why not?" He was panting himself, light-headed with desire, eyeing the choker lying black over Len's tender skin, over the small reddened indentation Jim had left on his neck. "What does it mean?"

"Life...death," Len groaned. "Knowledge." He shuddered. "Science and myth. Chaos and...and order. Sacred and profane. Damage and healing. Pleasure and...and...and..."

Jim had to, the moment was too _right_; he twisted a finger sharply into the necklace, tight enough to fill in the blank with just a little pain on Len's windpipe, a little threatening pressure all around, and his heart pounded at the way the back beneath him stiffened and the backside clenched against him. Len stretched his chin up, eyes closing, breath shortening.

"And _pain,_" he growled in Len's ear. "Why... isn't it... finished?"

"Milestones," he mumbled into his forearm, voice now high and strained and lost, and he bucked slightly beneath Jim as if he couldn't help himself. "Each branch..."

"Mm," Jim grunted. Classes, years of education -- he got it immediately, thought it was cool, had a really hard time giving a damn about the details right at that moment. He tugged a tiny bit harder. "Say the word 'no'."

"No."

"Say it three times."

"What--" the tiniest shake of his head. "No. No. No."

Jim released him instantly, slipping his finger out of the twisted cord. He trembled at the pale pink line he'd made on Len's skin, at his own boldness. "You want me to stop, you say so three times. Got it?"

Len's chin dropped, and though his breathing was shaky there was no hesitation when he said, "Yes."

Jim flushed hot and hard, not sure where the steamy summer air stopped and their bodies began, hardly able to believe this was happening. Len really wanted Jim to do this, he wanted _Jim_ \-- the impossible become possible. Distant, gruff, untouchable Len -- but Jim got to touch now, pressing down again on Len's shoulder, sliding fingers wet and sticky with sweat and lube up along his side and ribcage. Len quivered but couldn't twitch away, hiding his face in his folded arms.

Well, that would never do.

Jim pulled Len's arm just above the elbow, dragged and twisted until the wrist laid across the small of his back, then shifted his weight and pulled the other down the same way. Len had no choice but to lay his cheek against the sheet, his one visible eye watching Jim uncertainly, but his muscles gave easily under Jim's manipulating grip. He tugged one arm over the other, delighted at the way they looked -- broad crossed wrists, wide palms, big strong manhands with the backs lightly browned, lightly veined, lightly hairy. And lying quiescent across his paler back, just because Jim wanted them to.

"You keep 'em there," he said, voice returning to a low growl. "I want to watch your face while I fuck you."

"_Christ_, Jim."

Jim slid off of Len's tense body, needing to give his own overstimulated cock a moment of reprieve if he was going to prep Len properly. He leaned one hand heavily against the mattress, drew the other up along the back of Len's leg until the thigh muscles that nestled on either side Len's scrotum twitched uncontrollably. Then he brushed fingers through the tips of the dark pubic hair, knowing how the maddening, tickling non-touch would make Len quiver inside. Len panted and his wrists started to uncross but he caught himself, twisted his fingers into each other like the branches of the tree.

Jim stroked more lube off of his cock, onto his fingers, and this time went straight for the perineum, watching every twitch as Len set beads of sweat rolling down his skin -- damn, the man had a muscular ass, made him dizzy just imagining it clenching around him. He usually thought of Len as soft: he was big and broad and well built, but didn't particularly work out, had never led the kind of life that had given Jim the whipcord muscle on his boyish frame. But, as always with Len, there was more under the surface than there appeared.

Under Jim's intimate touch, Len spread his legs a little farther; Adam's apple bobbing, eyes not-quite closed. He pushed back, twined fingers tightening until Jim could almost see the yellow bone of his knuckles beneath his skin, hips grinding helplessly against the bed. Jim pressed a fingertip against the compact hole beneath the lube, and Len pushed back, making it easy to poke into his velvety heat, feel the spring of that constricting circlet of muscle from the inside. He found himself grinning again: relief, that this wasn't new territory for Len; disbelief, that the ass he'd lusted after was finally his; and sheer, horny fucking greed. Jim kept stroking, varying pressure, and slipped in another finger, sure that Len's dick was leaking into the sheets beneath them.

"_Please_," Len finally said; as much gasp as groan, as much demand as plea. Jim's cock leapt at the needy sound of it, eager to comply, but he had to stay in charge here.

"Please _what_, Len?" he rumbled. "You tell me what you want, I'll decide whether you get it."

Len whimpered, trying to push back on Jim's fingers. He drew in a breath, then another, throat working but nothing coherent making its way out.

Damn it, he knew Len wanted to be fucked, could feel it in the warmth throbbing around his fingers, but he'd asked and now the man had to answer or the fragile game they were playing might fall apart. Jim licked his lips. He kept Len on the edge, pressed his thumb at the base of Len's scrotum as if trying to pinch it together with the fingers against his prostate, but struggled to push himself back into that headspace. Moment-memories of being thrust up against a dark club wall, or bent over a colorful couch, or tethered with a man's expensive tie: overwhelmed, unable to speak. Len would need it simple and clear, black and white.

"Do you want me to walk away, leave you alone?" he whispered, low and threatening, but pressing a gentle kiss against Len's back.&lt;/div&gt;

"N-no," Len rasped, all gravel and grit, "_please_, just..."

"Do you want my cock, Len? Do you want my cock inside you?"

"Yes, _God _yes_, please yes_."

Jim slipped his fingers free and wiped them on the edge of the sheet, rolled to his knees between Len's legs, forcing them further apart. He braced one hand on either side of Len's torso, thrusting hips forward, sliding back through the slippery cleft of his ass a couple times before pushing the angle just right, lodging the tip of his cock in the tight hollow. He loved this moment, this unrelenting pressure around the head, he loved the slow wet press that didn't seem to go anywhere, he loved _Len_, and terrifyingly intense feelings surged and merged as everything suddenly opened to him. An electric rush up his cock as it scraped/slid past the ring of taut muscle, a crackling burn up his spine and through his nervous system, swimming sparks across the back of his eyes, a wild, pounding crush in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, stifled a whimper, until he could start thrusting in earnest, drowning emotions too big to name in physical sensation.

Len sighed his name and his fingers almost -- _almost_ \-- came undone but he lifted his hips up, meeting Jim's rhythm and his hands somehow locked together again, nudging against Jim's damp, undulating belly. Jim looked up and Len's head was still obediently turned on the bare sheet, watching Jim in profile, crescents of hair plastered to his forehead. Jim's panting desire was echoed on Len's face, in the beautiful crease between brows pulled together in desperate passion, in the plump lip caught on worrying teeth, in the pupil so wide his iris was only a thin rim of green.

"Harder," Len asked; hoarse and needy and maybe a whisper of real pain hiding beneath the hungry plea.

Jim huffed out a gutteral laugh, knowing that lost and desperate pain, knowing how to reach it, push it harder, make it right. He was breathing harshly, pushing his body up so that he could drive deeper, give Len what he needed, jar his bones into the mattress. He dragged the head of his cock relentlessly over Len's prostate until both of them were gasping and grunting in heedless pleasure. Sweat pooled and ran at the base of his neck, his spine, the backs of his knees, and their bodies slid and slapped against each other, wet skin making slick, smacking noises. The thick air boiled around them.

Len's fingers slipped again, started to come apart, and Jim let himself collapse over them, pinning the hands flat and tight between back and belly with his full weight, surprising another raw whimper out of Len. He rubbed his hands up along Len's biceps, under his shoulders, hooked fingers back over his collarbones and _pulled_, sliding up against his exhausted body, enfolding him in a tight and tender hug while pushing and shoving into him without pause. Len's deep groan became a full body shudder became a wail, and Jim compressed his arms and heaving torso with all his strength as if trying to take him apart and hold him together all at once. Jim's world was spinning, his strength failing, his cock trapped in the rock-hard grip of his spasming muscles. Jolts of energizing pleasure/pain spread into his balls, through his limbs, driving him into a blind aching frenzy.

"Hrruh!" he said, yanking and thrusting straight and rough, no longer caring about hitting Len's prostate, just using the new hard leverage to force himself as deep as he could get, pounding cheeks and asshole painfully wide. His fingers curled into the meat of Len's shoulders; he felt Len melting beneath him, utterly limp and welcoming under the heat of Jim's passion.

"Mine," he snarled, lurching and gasping, needing to hear it. "Tell me you're mine."

"Yours, Jim. Yours."

Len's voice was ragged, wrecked, and achingly sincere, and Jim wanted, wanted so much to believe and for now, for now in this moment he did, because he held Len, held him tight in his arms, claimed him completely, held him and owned him and wanted him and protected him and oh _fuck_ he was deep, and sending himself deeper, and he was crying out in a voice he didn't recognize, pressing his face against the Tree of Life and digging his fingernails into Len's skin, turning body and soul inside out and there was nothing, nothing, _nothing_ he wanted more.

He slid off Len's back onto the damp sheet next to him with a shaky moan; Len lay limp and still next to him for a long moment, their breathing and heartbeats slowly settling, just out of rhythm. Finally, Len pushed up and shifted to an undoubtedly cleaner and drier spot closer to the wall. He pillowed his head on his arms and turned his face toward Jim with a tired, rueful smile. Jim gazed back affectionately, reached out to peel a thin lock of hair out of the corner of Len's eye, and shimmied forward to follow him.

"Not getting away that easy. Wet spot or no."

The skin beneath Len's eyes was smudged with shadows, but his brows pulled together; he looked like he wanted to say something, mean something, discuss something.

Jim hooked a quelling elbow around his neck, gripped his wrist, and kissed his temple.

"Get some sleep, Len."

Jim smiled softly and closed his eyes, accepting the radiating heat of Len's body but gently, firmly pushing their worries and what-ifs aside. Instead, he hummed ever so softly under his breath, encouraging Len until he softened and settled into sleep.

"That's it, love," he whispered.

_Don't be afraid of the world we've made on a hot summer night..._

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this picture post](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/200095.html) on [](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/profile)[**jim_and_bones**](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/) (Locked, but the comm can be joined if you want to see).


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